


Night Light

by lookupkate



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: A Bit Not Good, M/M, Poor John, Reichenbach Feels, Self Harm, Sherlock Holmes Returns after Reichenbach, Triggers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-15
Updated: 2013-08-24
Packaged: 2017-12-23 14:56:00
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,258
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/927838
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lookupkate/pseuds/lookupkate
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A few weeks after Sherlock returns he sees the scars. The truth of the matter is that his death affected John more than he knows.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>MENTIONS OF SELF HARM-----BE WARNED</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

excerpt from Night Light by The Mountain Goats

Plug a night light in.  
Leave the porch light on.  
Because the small dark corners have designs on me.  
Live like an outlaw.  
Clutching gold coins in his claw.

Room full of ambitious young policemen.  
Everybody trying to make his mark.  
I was a red dot blinking on a screen up overhead,  
And then the room went dark.  
Dream of maybe waking up someday,  
And wanting you less than I do.  
This is a dream though,  
It's never gonna come true.

 

The first time he saw the scars was directly after a long but successful case. John lifted off his jumper, and his shirt came up with it.The marks were pink, like a newborn baby, and precise. They were so unlike John's other scars that Sherlock knew they were recent. They were laughing when he suddenly grew silent. His eyes flicked from John's shirt to his eyes and back, showing great concern. "John..", he had almost whispered. John blanched and realized what had happened. 

"Don't Sherlock. Just don't." John replied, his voice suddenly gruff. 

"But John.." Sherlock pleaded.

"Leave it." John replied, and left the room. Some people would have taken this request to heart, but not Sherlock Holmes. He had to know more.

Sherlock started trying to see John without his shirt. He began by waiting outside the bathroom door as John finished his shower, hoping he would exit in only a towel. John caught on quickly to this, and always brought a shirt with him. Sherlock's second plan was what got him a black eye. He had a perfectly safe, horrifically dangerous looking, concoction going in the kitchen one night when John returned from work. Sherlock let John remove his jacket and enter the kitchen before he spilled it on John's shirt and attempted to undress the man on the spot. John hit him only once, but it was enough to send him to the floor. Sherlock looked up from the floor with a mix of surprise and fear. 

"I told you to BLOODY leave it alone, didn't I?" John bellowed, face growing red and voice growing hoarse. "But you couldn't." He shouted as he left the room, slamming the door on his way out to the street. John had been gone for a day and a half after that. Sherlock called him over and over again until he found his mobile in John's forgotten jacket pocket. When John finally returned Sherlock promised himself he wouldn't make him leave again. He apologized by filling the fridge and pantry and making tea for a week. John thought his secret was his again. He was wrong.

Sherlock saw the scars for the second time when the medics cut John's shirt off to get to the stab wound in his belly. He memorized their placement like it was scripture, playing it over and over in his mind. There were seven sets of five and one lone mark below. They added up to thirty-six. One per month for three years. One mark for every month Sherlock had been gone. The earliest marks had turned into white raised lines. He ran his fingers over them in the ambulance on the way to the hospital. It felt like reading his absence in braille. He promised himself that when John woke he would ask him why.

By the time Sherlock actually talked to John about the marks he had been out of the hospital for three weeks. Sherlock had helped him remove and reapply the bandages to his abdomen during that time. The ability to look at the marks without John stopping him had taken away his nerve. When he finally asked him, John was drunk. It seemed like the best chance to get the truth. "What are the scars on your chest for?" Sherlock asked without meeting John's eyes. 

"Deduce." John said, and turned away. Sherlock took his arm and turned him around. John pushed him away, so he spoke again. 

"There are thirty-six marks. Each one deep enough to leave a measurable scar, but not deep enough to need sutures. They were done over a long period of time, as shown by the range of healing. The most recent one was made approximately two weeks before my return. Why?" Sherlock replied. John turned slowly, looking for once up at Sherlock and spoke. 

"Because...you were gone, and all the days seemed to blend together. I couldn't keep track of time.....so I found a way." John said, eyes full of tears. Sherlock took him in his arms, cradling his head and saying 

"Never again, never again, never again."


	2. Tasting You For The First Time

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock comes to the realization that John wants him badly.

_Can't ever set aside the sweetness,_  
Of the days before the crews put up the border.  
Fields full of wet rain.  
Cling tight to their memory forever.  
Think about Montana when I close my eyes,  
Possibly Jenny's headed east.  
Count a couple of stray hopes outloud,  
May their numbers one day be increased.  
  
Plug a night light in.  
Leave the porch light on.  
Because the small dark corners breathe like heavy animals.  
Live like an outlaw.  
Clutching gold coins in his claw

__Night Light_  
_The Mountain Goats_ _

___ _

The first time Sherlock tasted John's skin was to kiss away the tears. John was an army man, and the last thing he wanted to do was cry. The only problem was that his heart hurt more than he thought possible. John had thought that getting Sherlock back would be enough. He thought wrong. Over the following weeks his need to touch the man seemed to increase. His want became a heavy burden that he carried everywhere he went. He spent most of his time thinking of Sherlock, and the remaining time was filled with watching him. He had started out with cautious glances. Eventually he had trouble looking away. This was not something he could control and it was getting quite out of hand. 

"Was there an accident while I was gone that caused you to destroy a good amount of your brain cells John?" Sherlock asked without looking up from the microscope. 

"What?!?" John asked surprised.

"You are staring again. You've become quite proficient in your impersonation of a mental patient. You've been watching me with glazed over eyes this whole week." John wanted to scream at him, to tell him that he was an unfeeling git. He didn't though, because he knew the way he was watching Sherlock was a bit creepy. 

"I'm sorry. I will leave you alone." Said John, putting his cup in the sink and slowly exiting the kitchen. 

He walked into the living room of their flat and sat in Sherlock's chair, taking his laptop and going to Sherlock's website. For a few minutes he just stared at the profile picture. "Why are you sitting in my chair? What are you looking at that you don't want me to see....wait, let me guess. Porn? No, you only watch pornography when you're up in your room." John blushed bright red as Sherlock continued. "Perhaps a letter from one of your boring girlfriends?" Sherlock asked, still not looking up from his microscope. 

"I'm not looking at anything like that, and I don't care if you see." John replied. Sherlock stood from his chair in the kitchen and swiftly moved across the room to snatch the computer out of John's hands. 

"Oi, what the hell, Sherlock?" John screamed. The room slipped into silence. Sherlock just stared at the screen for a while, looking shocked. 

"John..." he said, "Why are you looking at my photo?" John was struck completely silent. Something seemed to click in Sherlock's head, and John looked on with fear as the realization flashed across Sherlock's face. 

"I just..." John finally croaked out, unable to finish the thought. 

"You have been acting strange for quite some time. You watch me when we are together, and I have heard you creeping down the stairs at night to watch me play the violin. Your breathing right now is ragged...face flushed.....pulse racing.....arousal? fear?" Sherlock pressed. 

"I'm sorry Sherlock, but I can't explain myself." John said. Sherlock sat across from him in John's seat and said, 

"Oh, I don't think that's true. You don't _want_ to explain yourself, but you know the reason for you actions. Tell me John." John shifted uncomfortably and looked at his hands. 

"Fine, I'll tell you why. I spent three years missing the expression you make when I get a deduction right. I spent three years missing the slight smile in your eyes when I insult Anderson. I spent three years trying to remember the exact way your brow wrinkles when you examine something through your microscope. Now that you're back I want to memorize everything about you so that..... so that...." John shook when a chill went through his body. "So that when you leave me again you won't leave me with nothing." John spit out in frustration. Sherlock looked shocked, more so than John had ever witnessed, then said, 

"You..think I'm going to leave? Why John? Why would I leave?" 

"Because I'll never be enough for you. I'll never be exciting enough to keep you happy. I'll never be as brilliant as Moriarty or Irene. Some day you'll get bored and leave, it's only a matter of time." John whispered. Suddenly Sherlock was at his feet holding his hands and looking up at him with sad eyes, 

"You really don't know do you? You are the most complex man I've ever known. I didn't leave because the chase was better than being here with you, I left so that I COULD be here with you. You make my world better in every way. You don't just make working with normal people tolerable, you make my life worth living. You may follow me into a crime scene, but I am stuck in your orbit. I will follow you until the end of my days." 

He knelt froward, carding his finger through the hair on the back of John's neck and kissed John's face. John sat completely still as Sherlock kissed up and down his face, covering the tears John hadn't noticed he had shed. Finally he pulled John even closer and locked lips with the awestruck soldier. John melted into the kiss as Sherlock stood and took him by the hand. Sherlock broke the kiss and said, "You want to look at me? Then come to bed with me John, you can look for as long as you like." John let Sherlock lead him to the bed and push him down. He said nothing as Sherlock began to remove his clothes. 

Sherlock's fingers moved gingerly over the buttons on his shirt, then took down his trousers and pants in one fluid motion. John gasped as Sherlock stood before him, a wide expanse of pale skin covering tight muscles. John reached out a hand and ran his fingers over the skin, surprisingly warm to the touch. Sherlock moved to lie down on the bed, and John shifted until he was looming over the naked man. "You're.......gorgeous." John whispered. Sherlock chuckled. John noticed that Sherlock was becoming hard under his hungry gaze and took him in his hand. He pulled softly at the younger man's erection, letting the soft slide of skin against hard muscle consume him. 

Sherlock shuddered at the touch and began to make small upwards movements. A small drop of fluid collected at the tip of his cock and John ran his thumb across it on the upstroke, eliciting a loud hiss and deep moan from Sherlock. Soon Sherlock was keening and make incoherent sonds and John could tell he was about to come. "Come for me Sher. Let me see you come." John said. That was all it took to push him over the edge. His cock pulsed in John's hand as he was painted in semen. John caressed him through his orgasm, and when he was spent John slumped down onto the mattress next to him. 

Sherlock pulled him in for a kiss and then whispered, "That was....that was amazing." He reached over to his night stand and pulled some tissues out of the box. When he laid back down he pulled John into an embrace, kissing the top of his head and smiling goofily. He then sat up to straddle John and began to pull John's shirt off. John stopped him with surprising strength and Sherlock stilled, looking confused. 

"I don't want you to look at me. I'm a mess of scars. I'm practically deformed. It's not pretty." He smiled weakly. 

"Don't be stupid John. I've seen the scars before. You don't have anything to hide." Sherlock replied. John sighed and removed his shirt, looking for all the world like he was in pain. 

Sherlock ran his fingers softly over the raised skin, then ducked down to lick at it. John moaned. "You're beautiful, John." Sherlock said, licking at the lines once again. 

"They're ugly." John replied, referring to the thirty six self inflicted wounds below Sherlock's tongue. 

"Nonsense." Sherlock said. "They are the physical embodiment of your desire for my presence. I promise to never make you want for me ever again." And with the he slowly took John apart, removing the rest of his clothes and stroking him all the way through what had to be the biggest climax in John's life. They spent the remainder of the night in each others arms, John finally falling asleep to the sound of Sherlock's strong, very alive, heart... 


End file.
